


you don't have to hide it

by towokuwusatsuwu



Category: HiGH&LOW: the Story of S.W.O.R.D. (TV)
Genre: Banter, Bathing/Washing, Introspection, Light BDSM, M/M, Pampering, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 04:04:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15404565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towokuwusatsuwu/pseuds/towokuwusatsuwu
Summary: kohaku gets an invitation from the past flame he would really like to forget, or at the very least move on from. he should hardly take the sender up on his offer and yet he finds himself in front of lee's door once more, forced to confront notions about himself he would really rather forget.forgetting lee is impossible.





	you don't have to hide it

The invitation is tucked inside of the doorframe of the storm door, a crisp cream envelope with a slight crease down the center from being placed in such a precarious position. Kohaku hesitates to touch it at first; he can smell a slight waft of cologne from the stationery and it makes his stomach clench tight in memory, an embarrassment that nearly chokes him. It makes him snatch the envelope. He should tear it into pieces, never read the contents, and move on with his life while putting his past and his former associations firmly behind him. He has made more than enough mistakes to last him the rest of his life.

Beneath his callused and bruised fingers, the paper is smooth as butter as the cologne is stronger this close to his face; only his name is written on the back in a neat, even black script. The handwriting is familiar enough to him and he glances around, wondering if someone might be watching him from the shadows to see his reaction to his letter. Might as well not make a show for them. He pockets the letter and heads inside of the apartment, locking up behind him.

After he sweeps the apartment for bugs— the envelope was placed outside of the apartment but he has no reason to trust Kuryu, and especially not the sender— he sits down at the rickety kitchen table and opens the envelope slowly, turning it upside down to empty the contents in case something dangerous might be waiting inside. A crisp white card slips from the paper with a shower of dark red rose petals and his breath hitches at the sight, one hand spasming as it comes to rest at the base of his throat. He knows these petals, and their source, far too well.

_ “These are my favorites.” The bloom of the rose ghosts over Kohaku’s lips and he shudders all over, his skin breaking out in goosebumps as the flower trails along his jaw, down his throat. It must be fresh, the petals cool against his hot skin; even the metal cuffs around his wrists, binding him to the headboard, have warmed by now. “I’ll cover you with them, I think. You’ll smell like them for days. I’ll smell it on you every time I’m near you.” _

The memory makes him shift uncomfortably in his chair, the velvety soft voice registering so well in his mind that it almost sounds like the speaker is standing just behind him, whispering against his ear. For more reasons than he cares to think about, the thought is unpleasant. He wants to leave the past behind him, and that includes his precarious “alliance” with Kuryu Group to get as close to them as he could in an effort to do what he could to stop them. The alliance was bad for him; he became a monster under the stress, hurting the people he loved. That alone is awful enough without the occasional uncomfortable dreams of a shark’s smile under platinum hair.

He hesitates to pick up the card but finally rescues it from the petals, turning it over in his hand until he finds more of that familiar script. The message is simple, too simple maybe.  _ My house. Tonight. 9PM. You remember the address. Lee. _

Lee. The name makes Kohaku’s hands tremble just a touch; there are more memories associated with this name now than there should be because Kohaku lost all control except when Lee exerted control over him, a perilous relationship that was bound to end in explosions one way or another. Admitting it ever happened is something Kohaku wants to avoid at all costs even though he knows such a thing is impossible; he consented to everything they did together, something Lee stressed was important if they were going to do anything. For all of his faults and flaws— he was  _ made _ of them— Lee was thorough in this one area.

Too thorough. Thorough enough that Kohaku can never shake a single memory, the sensations still crawling along his skin in his fantasies, Lee’s hands and toys and those dark probing eyes that felt like they could arrow straight through to Kohaku’s soul and all of the private pain he kept wrapped tight in steel. If even the people he cares the most about struggled to reach that part of him, then it should have been impossible for a veritable stranger to do the same.

Though, Kohaku supposes calling Lee a stranger is not accurate to what they are.  _ Were. _

Could be again, based on what Lee wants to talk about and why he wants Kohaku to come visit him in private away from the prying eyes of the world.

_ Am I really thinking about going to see him? Is that what’s happening? _ Kohaku sets the card down and moves away from the table, running a hand through his hair. It’s been years since it was this long; he’d let a lot go recently.  _ There’s no reason to see him. Nothing good ever happened with him and nothing good ever could. I should just leave it alone. _

Part of him can’t help but be interested. In all of the Kuryu goons he fought, in all of the madness, the press conference and the fireworks, all of S.W.O.R.D. coming together to fight, Lee had been mysteriously absent from everything. His fact is distinct in Kohaku’s mind; he’d seen it above him enough times that he memorized every detail and he would have known the instant he saw Lee. It helps that no one else in Kuryu sports the same frosty gold hair.

Dismissing the absence should be easy; Kohaku has no reason to care about what happened to Lee the moment their “plan” fell apart and their partnership crumbled. Such a failure would probably warrant death in Iemura Group and yet this card in Lee’s familiar handwriting. So he survived and is out there somewhere, waiting to see if Kohaku will answer his call. Maybe he isn’t even thinking about that; maybe he threw this out into the world and stopped caring about where it might fall and where everything goes from here.

_ Don’t go see him, _ Kohaku tells himself.  _ The others trust you. They know they can rely on you once again. Don’t fuck this up for some random hook-up with someone who could never care about you beyond the realms of stupid games. _

Kohaku still dons his jacket, mounts his bike, and makes the trip. Some things are harder to let go of than others, and maybe this is the closure he truly needs on the last piece of his past with the Iemura Group and everything that period of his life signified.

Maybe he just enjoys making questionable decisions with questionable men.

Lee has a beautiful house, this much Kohaku knows. Iemura makes plenty of questionable money and he knows Lee’s success over the years has amounted into the impressive structure that dwarfs most buildings Kohaku has seen in his life. The fact the lights are visibly off makes him hesitate, hands gripping the handlebars of his bike as he tells himself to hurry up and make a decision. Driving here means nothing if he turns around and leaves never to come back. The moment he dismounts and walks up to the door is when all of this will be real.

Kohaku dismounts the bike and leaves it in the shadows.

The wait at the door after he rings the bell is maddening, though he supposes the house is massive and then he worries Lee might not have heard him at all. Just when he thinks he should do something— call maybe, knock, anything— he hears the distinct sound of footsteps on the flooring and sighs, shaking his head. Why should he worry so much? It’s just Lee.

When the door swings inward, Kohaku is not quite sure what to prepare himself for. What he doesn’t expect is Lee’s face to be showing the remains of a few bruises, a split lip looking mostly-healed. He smiles just the same even though Kohaku can feel the disbelief on his face, the way it contorts his features. Maybe the hair hides some of it, though.

“Kohaku-san.” Lee says his name on an exhale and Kohaku does his best not to squirm. “I didn’t think you’d come to see me. And you’re early.”

“Am I?” Kohaku glances down at the screen of his phone, slightly distressed to see the time.

Lee chuckles, his fingers curling around Kohaku’s wrist and really, Kohaku should jerk his hand back. Instead, he feels the muscles there ease under Lee’s touch. “Such a prompt man. But you always have been to my recollection. You’ve come all the way here. Please, come in.”

The interior of the house is as Kohaku remembers it; stark blacks and whites, leather furniture and a space so expansive it feels too large. The noticeable absence of anything belonging to the Mighty Warriors gives him pause, but he supposes that they would have moved fully into the Funk Jungle by now and out of this house. If Lee can manage living in such a house by himself, then he’s a stronger man than Kohaku could ever be.

“You can have a seat,” Lee says airily, locking up the front door.   
“Just tell me why you wanted me to come here.” Kohaku’s nerves are frayed from the last few months, the stress, the fighting, the pain. “I’m not here for pleasantries.”

The disappointed sigh pricks his nerves further and Kohaku’s hands curl into fists, trying to stabilize the slight tremble in his fingers. “Well, I’m afraid that’s all I wanted this evening. Something pleasant between the two of us. How has time treated you since we parted?”

“Who beat the shit out of you?” Kohaku counters.

Lee stills, his back still to Kohaku, then turns to face him slowly. The bright white light in the room only highlights the wounds on his face. “Nikaido-san,” he says simply, then smiles, though it hardly reaches his eyes, which remain cold. “I failed, didn’t I? Iemura-san left me at Nikaido-san’s mercy. He could have been crueler, and I should be lucky for that.”

“Surprised,” Kohaku mutters. “Thought you had more protective status than that.”

“No. You misunderstand Kuryu if you think any such thing could keep me safe.” Lee leaves the door and walks up to him, and nothing about him should be frightening. The height difference alone gives Kohaku a notable edge and he knows in a fight, he could easily best Lee. That being said, part of him feels cowed already.

He averts his eyes, Lee’s gaze too intense for him. He feels fragile right now, like anything could shatter him when he’s been trying so hard to rebuild himself. “I see.”

“I’ve heard how hard you fought, though. I hear everything. I’m pleased with that.” Lee’s fingers on his face startle Kohaku and his gaze moves back to Lee’s once more; he hadn’t seen Lee move, much less reach for his face. “I thought you would. They think it’s so easy to tear you down. What would they do if they knew how hard I worked to open you up?”

Kohaku’s gut clenches at the question. “Don’t.”

“I would never tell them.” Lee’s fingers shift to fit the shape of Kohaku’s face, and it shouldn’t feel like as much as it does. “That was for me and my eyes only, after all. I heard you were even able to best Genji when it counted. That’s impressive. He and you… Are not so different.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kohaku demands. His dreams are still haunted by the stoic-faced demon, the flash of lights on the blade of his katana.

Lee chuckles. “I’m afraid I can’t really divulge such information. Ryu-san would have my heart if I did. Anyway, small talk aside. I wanted to give you a… Present, of sorts.”

“A present,” Kohaku deadpans.

Lee’s fingers slip up into his hair and Kohaku tenses. “This is… Very cute, this hairstyle. You must have stopped cutting it after our partnership ended? It suits you. It’s very depression chic.”

“Shut up.” Kohaku winces when Lee shoots him a look. “What do you  _ want, _ Lee?”

“Come upstairs with me to the bathroom. That’s where the present is.” Lee’s voice is soft, dangerously so. “If you decide you don’t want it, you can leave. I wouldn’t keep you here.”

This much is true and Kohaku trusts his word on this. “Fine. I’ll look.”

The house is empty enough that their footsteps echo on the staircase up to the next floor; Kohaku grips the railing tightly in one hand and tries not to let his face betray what he feels being back in this space once more. Though Lee could have played his games anywhere, he chose to play them at home the most and Kohaku had been introduced to this space as the safest place for them to play together without prying eyes to interfere.

As such, he knows where the bathroom is. The pathway is a familiar one down the long, wide brightly lit hallway to the partially-open doorway. Lee curls his fingers around the knob and tilts his head back, meeting Kohaku’s eyes with just a faint glitter in his own.

“This is for you,” he says, and pushes the door open.

The bathroom is so dimly lit in comparison to the rest of the house that Kohaku finds it jarring. There are dozens of candles spread across every available surface, some even placed on the floor, something floral that combines with the scent of the rose petals spread across the tiles. Rose petals, because of course. A denser trail leads to the bathtub, a massive porcelain claw-footed structure that Lee hardly ever uses; Kohaku can remember him saying that he likes the look of it but showers for quickness.

Rose petals float loftily on the water, the floral scent seeming to emanate from the water itself, probably a bath oil of some kind. The set-up is a cozy one, for sure, but Kohaku finds himself uncertain of what this all means, eyes searching out Lee’s for an answer to the question.

“I’ve drawn you a bath,” Lee singsongs, though his smile widens into something like a grin. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you and you’ve gone through so much. I thought you might like to relax and let me pamper you for a bit. God knows you deserve it, after all.”

“Why?” Kohaku demands.

Lee frowns at him, one eyebrow raised in question. “Why not? I enjoyed spending time with you, Kohaku-san. Is there anyone else in your life taking care of you right now?”

Kohaku scoffs. “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“That’s not what I remember.” Lee taps his lower lip with a finger, then heaves a sigh. “As I said, you can leave if you don’t want the present. Don’t be so suspicious in the future, though.”

“Wait.” Kohaku squeezes his eyes shut; he knows he should leave but the pull to Lee has always been too strong, and the bath looks inviting. He’s barely been able to take care of himself since everything spiralled out of control anyway. “Just a bath?”

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t push for anything else unless I politely asked first, and I always respected it when you said no. Consent is important.” Lee’s voice seems to echo through the bathroom; Kohaku can detect no lies in his words.

“Fine.” Kohaku shrugs out of his jacket and already feels naked without it. “Just a bath.”

He expects Lee to watch him, eyes crawling all over his body while he strips off and sets his clothing on the bathroom counter away from the candles. He doesn’t expect Lee to leave him be, heading off somewhere else in the house; there’s a hollow ache in his chest and he wonders what he must have done to upset Lee if he was just discarded in such a way.  _ No, _ he reminds himself, shaking his head.  _ It’s not like that anymore. You didn’t do anything wrong. _

The water is hot, the temperature Kohaku prefers and he can tell there’s oil in the water meant to perfume his skin so he’ll still be smelling like Lee’s favorite flowers once he’s left. Still, he lets himself sink down into the water, the heat relaxing his sore muscles and uncoiling some of the tension through his arms and back. By the time he hears Lee’s returning footsteps, he’s submerged into the water with only his head resting against the edge of the tub, his eyelids feeling unusually heavy, though he hasn’t been sleeping well lately.

“What a nice sight.” Lee’s voice draws Kohaku’s attention; Lee hovers in the doorway for a moment, a satisfied expression on his face and a dark red cushion in one hand.

Kohaku frowns. “What’s that for?” he asks, staring at the cushion. He can remember kneeling on similar ones at Lee’s feet, Lee insisting the floors would be too rough on his knees.

“I said I was going to pamper you, didn’t I? My floors in here are tile.” Lee closes the bathroom door and walks over to the tub.

He sets the cushion on the floor and walks away once more, toward the counter and the obscene amount of bath products on the surface. When Kohaku first entered this room with him, he thought it strange anyone would keep so many soaps and shampoos and oils when he hardly used the tub but Lee always explained it away with it being for guests; Kohaku supposes Mighty Warriors might have made plenty of use of the tub.

Lee returns to the tub with a handful of bottles and a loofah and then moves out of Kohaku’s line of sight, just behind him. As if sensing Kohaku’s initial tensing up, he rests a hand on top of Kohaku’s head. “No worries. I’m going to wash your hair. If you consent, I’ll wash your entire body. This is for  _ you, _ though I will get enjoyment out of your pleasure in the act.”

“Pleasure,” Kohaku mutters, trying not to press up into Lee’s hand.

“Pleasure,” Lee echoes. “Can I wish your hair? Or would you rather do it?”

Kohaku sighs. “I suppose I came here for you to do it, so you can.”

“Such a good boy.” The comment sounds more errant than anything else, a soft murmur Kohaku might have missed if his senses weren’t so tuned to Lee; his stomach twists at the words and he tries to ignore his own reaction.

Not being able to see Lee is an exercise in trust and Kohaku knows this better than anyone; Lee’s hands take his head gently, tipping it back to wet his hair. At any moment, Lee could dunk him under, submerge him fully under the water but he doesn’t, stops when Kohaku’s hairline is just under the water, fingers slipping through his hair to fully wet the strands. The angle is a bit of a strain but Kohaku can see Lee looking down at him, the pleased little smile on his face, and he’s reminded that Lee got far more out of their games than simply a good orgasm or two.

He  _ likes _ taking care of people. But only the people he deems worthy of his attention.

“You have such beautiful eyes,” Lee murmurs, and Kohaku’s face burns though he’d pass it off as the heat from the water if he had to. “And a beautiful mouth.”

“Is this part of the pampering?” Kohaku asks. He aims for dry, but his voice is too strained, too husky, to quite pull it off.

Lee smirks down at him. “If you’re enjoying it, then I suppose it is.”

“And if I tell you to shut up?” Kohaku presses.

The smirk widens. “Then I will, Kohaku-san.”

He doesn’t tell Lee to shut up.

Lee presses his thumbs into the back of Kohaku’s neck as if sensing the strain the stretch introduced, massaging it away with a level of skill that should be worrying but only makes Kohaku relax into his touch that much farther. He almost whines when Lee takes his hands away but the sound of a plastic cap popping reminds him that Lee has a purpose in mind and he sighs at himself, closing his eyes and telling himself to just relax. He didn’t come here for this, not the way he used to. He needs to remember that before he makes a bad mistake.

The shampoo is floral-scented and the addition should be sickening, like standing in the middle of a greenhouse during the hottest part of a summer, but the scents mix together too well and Kohaku knows that Lee has thought about this carefully, has put time into all of his choices. His hands are gentle in Kohaku’s hair, massaging the shampoo through to the roots where he presses firmer, adds more pressure until it’s very much a scalp massage. If Kohaku lets a little moan slip out in the process, so be it. Lee knows how to use his hands.

“You’re so responsive. I can feel the tension leaving your body, I’m so pleased.” Lee sounds beside himself, actually. “Just let me take care of you, Kohaku-san.”

Kohaku wets his lips; he feels so relaxed, so warm. “Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

“Ah, I missed that mouth.” Lee laughs and Kohaku smiles slightly at the sound before blinking at himself; why does he still  _ care? _ “I knew I wasn’t going to regret contacting you after all.”

“I don’t like that you think you know me so well,” Kohaku murmurs.

“Is that so?” Lee traces a wet fingertip down the side of Kohaku’s face, the air kissing the path and cooling it a moment later, making Kohaku shiver. “Well, I suppose I can forget with time if that’s what you’d really like. It’s up to you to make that kind of decision.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Kohaku asks.

Lee chuckles. “Anything you want it to, darling.”

His voice slips husky on the last word and Kohaku squeezes his eyes shut, not willing to let himself slip into this familiar pattern once more. Lee guides his hair back beneath the water to wash the soap out, fingers massaging the soap away from his locks; he keeps his eyes shut, not wanting to see the expression on Lee’s face. After Lee is satisfied, Kohaku’s head is guided back into position and Lee’s fingers massage the strain out of his neck once again. It’s unfair, the effect Lee has on him, how each little touch threatens to unravel him.

Another product is massaged into his hair— probably conditioner— and Kohaku is too relaxed, too soft in Lee’s hands, that a few noises slip free though Lee chooses not to comment on any of them. When his hair is finally washed and rinsed thoroughly, Lee hesitates.

“Am I allowed to touch the rest of you?” he asks, a curious note in his voice.

_ You can’t go back if you say yes, _ Kohaku thinks. “I wouldn’t fight you on it.”

“That’s not a proper answer, Kohaku.” The drop of the honorific makes Kohaku’s throat tighten, his stomach twisting just slightly. “Am I allowed to wash your body?”

“Yes, Sir.” The title slips so naturally from his lips that he’s startled by it.

Lee is quiet. “Kohaku,” he says softly, slowly. “It isn’t like that right now. Do remember that.”

The words startle a gasp out of Kohaku and he’s grateful Lee is behind him, in no way able to see the way his face almost crumples at the words, the immediate concern, the worry, the  _ I’ve done something to upset him _ that comes so naturally with such a rejection. Really, he should be grateful that Lee is putting it on the table right now that this is in no way what he’s intending. Instead, Kohaku feels almost lost. Has he done something wrong?

“Right,” he says, trying to make his voice gruff. “My mistake. Yeah, it’s fine.”

Lee hums softly. “All right. Be malleable for me and I’ll treat you right.”

This man’s hands have been all over his body, and Kohaku knows this better than anyone else; he still feels the touches in the depths of his fantasies when the last thing he wants to think about is Lee but it’s what his mind comes back to. Their games, his snide smile, the litany of soft song-like words that could cut deep when Kohaku disappointed him and soothe him unlike anything else when he needed it. The memories are sharper and more focused than they have any right to be, and Kohaku hates how easy it is to fall into the pattern.

“Ah, you’ve suffered too, I see.” Lee’s fingers are carefully on still-fading bruises and healing cuts, the loofah barely patting such sensitive places. “Poor thing. They don’t take care of you well enough back in Sannoh. I hope you remembered to sanitize these cuts.”

Kohaku rolls his eyes. “I’m alive. That’s what counts.”

“I suppose such a thing is most important to you. Nevertheless, be careful.” Lee’s voice is stern, no room left in his words for any interpretation.

When his hands wander lower, Kohaku expects— He doesn’t know what he expects, but he doesn’t expect how gentle Lee’s touches are but how to the point they are, almost clinical. He doesn’t linger anywhere and Kohaku tries to ignore the disappointment but it’s difficult, and then he’s disappointed at himself for even wanting such a thing. Lee told him this was as far as they were going, so why does he find that so hard to stomach?

_ Maybe he just doesn’t want you anymore. _

The revelation draws a pitiful noise out of Kohaku’s lips and he  _ hates _ himself for it, and he hates himself more when Lee stops touching him, brows knitted together in concern. He drags a hand through the water to wash the soap out of it before touching Kohaku’s face, thumb sliding under his lip, and it’s unfair that he can touch so intimately and still mean nothing by it. That he can be so carefully controlled and put together, and do nothing more than this, make this one small gesture, and ruin Kohaku to the core.

“What’s wrong?” Lee’s voice is so low, so soft, and Kohaku wishes he would just stop.

“Nothing.” It’s a lie, not even a good one, and he knows Lee can see right through him like it’s a talent he can use at will. “Just, you just, what is this even  _ for? _ I thought— I-I thought—”

Lee’s face softens, the hand on Kohaku’s face fitting against his skin. “Kohaku,” he says, and he sounds… Kohaku isn’t sure how he sounds. “You came here expecting me to play games with you. Did you even want that? I was under the impression it was the last thing you wanted.”

“I don’t know.” It sounds pathetic, but it’s true. “I just, I don’t fucking know. I thought I didn’t but then you just, and I… Maybe I don’t know what I want.”

“Do you want me?” Lee is straight to the point as always.

Kohaku squeezes his eyes shut. The question hangs in the air between them, heavy in the perfumed air, almost enough to suffocate him. He knows what he needs to say, that he needs to cut this off before it can go any further because this situation is the last thing he needs to be dealing with right now. Letting himself be caught in Lee’s web once more will be his undoing and if he fell apart so much when he was in that situation, he can’t imagine how well he could handle it now, worn down and worn raw by so much pain and loss.

Lee’s hand on his face anchors him, though. He presses his face into it and when he looks at Lee properly again, he knows. He knows what he needs to say. So he says what he wants to say. “Yes, Sir.” It comes out less firm than he would have liked but it’s there.

“Good.” And then Lee leans over the side of the tub and kisses Kohaku so fiercely that it feels like time stops. There’s white static between his eyes and he almost doesn’t register Lee’s lips on his own, hungrily moving against his mouth, tongue prying its way between his lips— And then it clicks and Kohaku’s arms are around Lee’s shoulders, splashing him with water.

The angle has to be awkward and the edge of the tub has to be digging into Lee’s gut but he stays right where he is, the hand on Kohaku’s face holding him firmly, licking into his mouth with such purpose and ferocity that it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark, a reminder that he was here. When he finally does lean back, his eyes are dark and razor focused.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is low, almost a growl, fingers digging into the ceramic until his knuckles bleach white. Kohaku’s not been the only one suffering. “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

Kohaku wets his lip and he doesn’t miss the way Lee’s gaze drops to his mouth. “I don’t know,” he says, because it’s the truth, and he can’t lie to Lee. He’s never been able to. “But I… I want… Whatever this is. Whatever  _ you _ are. I can’t stop thinking about it. That’s all I know.”

“Darling,” Lee says, but it’s a strained sound even though he smiles, his eyes glittering like he’s delighted all over again, “that’s all you had to say. Let’s get you out of the bath.”

It shouldn’t make Kohaku feel any kinds of relieved to end up wrapped in Lee’s arms and yet the moment they close around him, it feels like coming home.


End file.
